


Red

by carolinecrane



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-06
Updated: 2012-05-06
Packaged: 2017-11-04 23:13:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolinecrane/pseuds/carolinecrane





	Red

He knew he should have changed after his court appearance. He should never have gone out on a call without stopping to change back into jeans, but he'd spent more time in court than he planned and by the time he got out there wasn't any time to run back to the lab just to change his clothes. 

He'd known the d.b. was found inside an animal testing facility. What he hadn't known about was the protesters, and he definitely hadn't expected them to be throwing stuff at the criminologists who showed up to investigate the murder. If he'd known about that beforehand he might have worn a raincoat, because by the time he made it inside the building his best pants and the shirt his mother had sent him for his birthday were dotted all over in red paint. 

"Unbelievable," he muttered when he finally reached the locker room and assessed the damage to his clothes. There was paint all down one side of his khakis, the spatter pattern showing exactly the angle at which the paint-filled balloon had hit him. Then there was the large red stain on the back of his shirt, almost dead center. He looked like he was wearing a target on his back, and that was exactly how he'd felt by the time he finally made it inside the crime scene.

By the time they were done the cops had rounded up all the protesters and carted them off for questioning, but that didn't make Nick feel any better about the fact that his best pants were ruined beyond repair. He let out a disgusted sigh and pulled his locker open, taking his jeans out and dropping them on the bench behind him before he reached for his other shirt. He could feel the paint sticking to his back where it had soaked through the shirt he was still wearing, and that meant he was going to have to take a shower before he could change. 

At this rate it would have been easier just to go home and get cleaned up, but he was pretty sure Grissom wouldn't have gone for that. Somehow Grissom had managed to avoid the flying paint balloons, of course, although how he'd done it Nick had no idea. He sighed again and started on the buttons of his ruined shirt, wincing as he tugged at the parts that were stuck to his skin with already dried paint. 

"You want some help with that?"

He jumped at the unexpected voice, turning to find Greg standing just inside the door smirking at him. "Where'd you come from?"

"Depends who you ask," Greg answered, his smirk turning mischievous as he looked Nick up and down. "What happened to you?"

"Animal rights protesters," Nick said, giving his shirt one last tug before it finally came loose. "You'd think I went to the crime scene in a fur coat."

"I heard about that." Greg inched a little closer, watching as Nick tossed the shirt in the trash and reached for the button on his pants. "Grissom worked that case too, right? He didn't come back covered in blood, though."

Nick scowled at Greg's amused expression as he slid his pants off and tossed them in the trash after his shirt. "It's paint. And these _were_ my best pants."

Greg nodded and moved even closer, and when he looked Nick up and down this time Nick could practically feel the heat of his gaze. "So you never said if you wanted any help. I could wash your back for you."

The sudden drop in Greg's tone was enough to make Nick's cock twitch, and he felt his temperature creep up a few degrees. "We're at work, G."

"So?" Greg shrugged as though he didn't see what that had to do with anything, then he leaned a little closer and ran a fingertip over a spot of paint at the top of Nick's thigh, and Nick felt his resolve start to waver. "Grissom went to the police station, and everybody else is out in the field. Who's gonna know?"

"You're crazy," Nick said, but it came out sounding an awful lot like 'yes', and when Greg grinned and backed toward the showers Nick knew he'd just agreed to what was probably career suicide. He followed the other man anyway, stopping long enough to grab the towel he kept in his locker. By the time he reached the showers the water was already running in the one at the end of the row, and Greg's clothes were flung in a haphazard pile on the floor. 

For once he was grateful that the locker room was coed, because it meant they got individual shower stalls instead of one big open room. He took a deep breath and hung his towel on the hook outside the shower, then dropped his boxers next to Greg's clothes and pulled the curtain back just far enough to slip inside. The stall was barely big enough for both of them, and when he stepped inside he was immediately confronted with an armful of warm, wet Greg.

"Crazy," he said again, murmuring the word against Greg's mouth as he leaned in for a kiss. One of these days Greg was going to get them both fired, but no matter how hard he tried, Nick couldn't resist the other man's enthusiasm. He wasn't even sure he wanted to, because there was something incredibly hot about how much Greg wanted him. 

The water tapped out a steady rhythm against his skin as he ran a hand through Greg's hair, tilting his head up to bare his throat to Nick's mouth. He kissed his way down to Greg's collarbone, stopping to suck at the spot he knew drove the other man crazy. Sure enough, moments later Greg was panting and digging his fingers into Nick's biceps, moaning breathy, incoherent pleas for more. 

There was just enough room for Nick to drop to his knees, his hands gripping Greg's hips and pushing him back against the tile wall. He wrapped a hand around the base of Greg's cock, stroking slowly until Greg was completely hard and thrusting slightly into his grip. Part of him wanted to keep going just like this, to watch Greg's hips moving in time with his hand until the other man came, but he knew they didn't have the luxury of time, at least not if he wanted to avoid getting caught.

Instead he used his free hand to hold Greg against the wall and leaned forward, running his tongue along the underside of Greg's cock before he swallowed the other man whole. Greg gasped and pressed hard against Nick's grip, the hand on his hip the only thing keeping him from choking Nick. It was strange not to hear Greg's usual litany of pleas and demands and strangely timed jokes, but they both knew anyone could walk in at any moment and he appreciated the fact that Greg was making an effort to be quiet.

When a broken moan escaped Greg's throat Nick knew he was close, and he let go of Greg's cock to slide his hand between the other man's legs as he sucked even harder. Another moan echoed off the tiles as Nick slid a finger inside him, and a few tiny thrusts was all it took to push Greg over the edge. He was still working to catch his breath when Nick stood up and spit into his hand, leaning in for a breathless kiss before he took hold of Greg's hip again and coaxed him toward the wall.

Nick had to bite back a groan when Greg braced his hands against the tile and spread his legs, running a come-slick hand over his own cock before he lined himself up and pushed inside the other man. Greg pressed back to draw Nick all the way in, surprising a low moan out of him when he found himself surrounded by tight heat. And this was almost worth getting fired for, especially after the night he'd had. He'd been looking forward to the moment when he got home and got them both out of their clothes; all through his long, boring court appearance and then the misery of his first case of the night he'd been thinking about this, so when Greg had showed up in the locker room Nick hadn't had a prayer of resisting. 

Greg had a talent for showing up at all the right moments, and one day Nick was going to remember to ask him how he did it. For now, though, it was enough that Greg pushed back to meet each of his thrusts, murmuring his encouragement in a voice soft enough that Nick could barely hear it. He let go of Greg's hip with and covered the other man's hand where it rested against the wall, threading their fingers together as he buried his face against Greg's neck. One more thrust, then again and he tensed and came, his moan muffled against Greg's skin.

He wasn't sure how long it took him to pull himself back together, but when he finally pulled out of Greg his legs felt a little shaky and he had to lean against the opposite wall while he panted for breath. "You're gonna be the death of me," he said as Greg pressed against him again, mouthing soothing kisses along his jaw.

"You love it," Greg answered, leaning back to grin when Nick slid a hand into his hair.

For a second Nick wished they were already home so they could dry off and crawl into bed together. He didn't want to get dressed and go back to processing evidence – what he wanted to do was spend the next few hours kissing every inch of Greg's skin. They still had work to do, though, and Nick knew they had to get back to it before Grissom got back from the station. "Yeah," he said, the corners of his mouth twitching into an affectionate grin, "I do."

Greg smiled at that, one of his warm, genuine grins, and leaned forward for another kiss before he stepped out of Nick's grip and reached for the soap. "Turn around," he said, and Nick complied instantly, closing his eyes as Greg's hands went to work on the paint still staining his skin.

"How'd you know I was in here, anyway?" Nick asked as Greg scrubbed at a stubborn spot.

"I heard Grissom telling Catherine about what happened with the protesters. Figured you could use a distraction."

And now he really wished they were already home, because he could think of about a dozen different distractions of his own. But he settled for turning to face Greg, pressing soft kisses along his skin until he finally reached Greg's mouth. Just a few more hours and they could go home and forget all about evidence and suspects and the untimely death of his good pants. He was already counting the minutes.


End file.
